Into The Light
by ozhawk
Summary: Extended scenes and one-shots filling in between my story Through A Glass Darkly and the sequel A Shattered Reflection. (Won't make much sense unless you read Through A Glass Darkly). Features basically everybody plus my own family of OC's. Rated M for language and smut :)
1. Into The Light

**Into The Light**

This is the first of the one-shot sequels to Through A Glass Darkly (if you haven't read that, this won't make much sense). The rest of the one-shots will be posted as additional chapters to this story.

I did kind of rush through the wedding. My lovely reviewer BoomerCat wrote a chunk of this (Clint's perspective) and I decided it was too good to waste and you guys needed some extra bonus fluffy fluffiness until I get off my butt and clear up that nightmare cliffhanger I left you with

**Disclaimer: Marvel own all these characters and stuff, except Jen and her family. They're mine. ALL MINE. (Though I do let people share when they ask nicely).**

**WARNING: Fluffy. And sickly. Like candyfloss. You may need to visit the dentist.**

**Rated M for an occasional swear word and some smut at the end. (Yay for smut!)**

_Jen_

"You ready, baby?"

She turned to face her father with a smile, then sighed and reached up to put her hands on his cheeks.

"Don't you dare cry."

"Sorry." Rik Svendson, battle-hardened veteran, swiped at his eyes. "Your mother set me off."

"Of course," Jen gave him a teasing smile that said she didn't believe a word of it, but she'd allow him his pride. It wasn't every day a man had to give away his only daughter, after all.

"You look radiant, honey," he stooped and kissed her cheek gently. "I don't have to ask if you're sure about this, do I?"

She shook her head happily, and he offered his arm for her with a broad smile. "Then let's go put some jesses on that Hawk of yours."

_Clint_

She'd told him over and over. She'd shown him in a hundred different ways. She'd done everything she could, but still, as he stood on the windy rooftop, his heart froze in his throat. What if she didn't appear? What if she realized her mistake, and ran?

Clint Barton had faced so many things in his life. Horrible things that could crush a man's soul. But he'd never felt a fear like this. One that crawled like cockroaches up his legs and over his groin, loosening his courage, and weakening his knees. His mouth was chokingly dry, and he was exquisitely aware of the ledge at the edge of the roof. His mind was full of darkness as his hands trembled. It would only take a few short quick steps to reach that ledge and take his one last fatal flight of the hawk.

And why shouldn't he? It still amazed him how quickly Jen had become the sole reason for his existence. Yeah, they said it was all Loki's doing. A twisted gift from a twisted mind. But Clint knew the truth. He would have fallen for Jen anyway. He would have seen her duck into those vents during the invasion, and his heart would have been stolen away magic spells or not.

But what he couldn't get his mind around, no matter how hard he tried, was why Jen would want a loser like him. He'd tried to tell her. Several times as they lay together in the aftermath of their lovemaking, he'd tried to explain that he wasn't the good person she thought he was. She'd listened with those incredible eyes trained on his face. But as he spoke, she would grow sad, and would reach for him, holding him as if she could make it all go away. And it would. For as long as she held him, he could believe he was the person she thought she saw.

But then she would let go, and it would all come back. Now, as he stood there, he couldn't bring himself to believe that she would actually marry him. He sensed Bruce stepping closer to him, a warm presence to prop him up when the axe finally fell, and Jen's father came to give him the bad news.

"Hang in there, buddy. It'll all be over soon," Bruce murmured.

_Yeah, one way or another_. He looked at the roof edge again, and Bruce's hand came down firmly on his shoulder.

"Look, she's here!"

And sure enough, as Bruce said it, Rik Svendson stepped out on the roof, looking proudly regal in his tuxedo. Clint swallowed, feeling the darkness start to crowd in on him, but then, light exploded in his brain, when Rik held out his hand, and the most stunning, gorgeous creature appeared.

She was light and warmth, and more beautiful than an angel sent from God. With her hand tucked lightly in the crook of her father's arm, she floated toward him. The dress she wore was almost too perfect, a shimmer of silvery light shifting over snow white. It was virginal, yet showed every curve. Her blue eyes were sparkling with their own silver, and they never once left his face. Her entire face was wreathed in joy.

Clint was sure his heart had stopped. Somehow, he had died, and this was a heaven he had never deserved. Rik stepped forward, and placed his daughter's hand in his. Clint never noticed the man was there. He felt his knees shaking, but he couldn't do anything but stare.

Jen looked up into his adoring eyes and said, "Hawk, if you fucking pass out on me, I swear I'll wear a fucking chastity belt to bed tonight. Breathe, baby, breathe!"

Realizing he had indeed been holding his breath, Clint took in a deep breath and smiled. "You sure about this, darlin'? Last chance to bail."

She smiled sweetly, and whispered, "And if you don't stop that 'I'm not worthy' crap, I'll make _you_ wear the chastity belt. Now buck up and marry me, mate."

With a grin that went right down to his heart, Clint felt in that moment that his ledger had been washed clean, and his soul renewed. Turning to face the celebrant, with Jen at his side, he set aside the darkness and came into the light.

_Jen_

For a moment there, she'd thought he might pass out. Or vomit. His face was a slightly strange green colour. She'd used her sharp tongue and teasing words to bring him back to himself, and when he spoke, his voice was firm and steady. Of course, what he said annoyed her thoroughly. She gave him a narrow-eyed glare, and then smiled sweetly. Oh, no, she wasn't going to give him any excuse to quit on her.

"Meet me where the sunlight ends, meet me where the truth never bends, your sorrow, your beauty, your daylight, your dark, I want it all. Give me your heart," Clint asked her in a soft, husky voice when the time came for them to exchange their vows.

"Always," she promised him, feeling to her horror tears welling in her own eyes. That this man, this _hero_, should want _her_ – _she_ was the one who was not worthy. He looked at her, concerned, his beautiful eyes gleaming in the sunlight, warm hands pressing gently on hers. Somehow she managed to get her own vows out without stumbling over the words, and then finally it was all over, the celebrant was pronouncing them man and wife, and she was in Clint's arms, lifted off her feet as usual as he kissed her thoroughly.

Their friends flocked around congratulating them, hugs and kisses bestowed all around, Natasha's embrace especially warm. In Natasha, Jen felt that she'd found the wise big sister she'd always wanted.

_Natasha_

Clint had chosen wisely. Natasha had been concerned about Jen at first; what could an ordinary girl, thrust by Loki's magic into their midst, know about their world? But she had proven herself tough, adaptable, and mostly importantly in Natasha's eyes, as devoted to Clint as he was to her. Jen had willingly risked her own safety for Clint's health, before she knew she was his soul-mate, and in so doing had earned Natasha's respect and loyalty.

Natasha had never seen her best friend so happy. Clint was smiling broadly as Tony patted his back and made some (probably rudely explicit) comments in his ear. He never let go of Jen, though, his arm curled possessively around her waist, her family and friends having to be satisfied with kissing her cheeks instead of hugging her. And Jen was obviously happy to be so close to Clint, leaning her head against his shoulder, careless of her perfectly arranged hair.

Steve stepped in to shake Clint's hand and congratulate him, and Natasha smiled softly at the super-soldier. Maybe he would stay with her and maybe they'd part one day, but for now she felt almost as happy as Clint looked. Her eyes slid to Director Fury, the next man in line to speak with the newly-weds, and her smile slipped. There were still parts of her past – and her present – she could not share with Steve. Although she was no longer a S.H.I.E.L.D. employee, she had been forced to cut a deal with Fury. The World Council had been reasonably happy to let Clint go – his criminal past was so far in the past, and so far below the radar, they'd assumed he was just another agent, albeit one with a weird skill set. Plus, after Loki, Clint was compromised. Many within the agency would never be able to trust him again, despite his heroics at the Battle of New York.

But Natasha had been a world-infamous assassin not so very long ago at all. She'd killed family members and friends of current Council members, and they weren't willing to forgive and forget so easily. Short of locking her up – and that wouldn't end well for anyone – they couldn't force her to stay with S.H.I.E.L.D. That hadn't stopped them trying, and in the end she'd made a deal with Fury that he could call on her if he needed her specific skills. The same deal had extended to Clint – and he had been called up in the velociraptor hunt.

Natasha suspected that hunt had been an oblique hint that Fury _would_ be calling on her too, in due time. They could have managed without Clint. She nibbled on her lower lip and looked away. Her eyes fell on Pepper, and widened.

_Pepper_

It was a beautiful wedding. Just gorgeous. Clint was so darn handsome in that suit, his broad shoulders filling it out perfectly, and Jen looked like a tiny fairy princess in all her dainty beauty. Strange how a couple of months ago Pepper had never met either of them, and now she considered them two of her closest friends. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue as they said their vows, and horrified herself by bursting into full-blown sobs when the two of them kissed.

Tony, of course, fled at once, not even looking at her as he bolted off to congratulate Clint. Pepper sat, shoulders shaking, sobbing into her now-quite-inadequate tissue until she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and a large, clean white handkerchief was pushed into her hand.

"Thanks," she sobbed, glancing up to see which of the men had come to her rescue – probably Steve, he was chivalrous like that – and was a bit surprised to see Natasha sitting down beside her.

"Stole it out of Steve's pocket," Natasha nodded at the handkerchief. "I know it wasn't for me so probably he suspected _he_ might cry, since he never needs to blow his nose."

That made Pepper laugh through the sobs and sniffles, and she blotted at her eyes, hoping her makeup was staying put. "Thanks," she managed to choke out.

"You're welcome." Natasha paused for a moment. "That looks like a little more than tears of happiness?"

That made Pepper well up a bit more, and a moment later Natasha was hauling her to her feet. "Come on, we're gonna go have a girly bathroom talk."

"Don't wanna," Pepper sobbed, reverting to five years old.

"Tough. I'm not having you wrecking Clint and Jen's wedding day by sobbing over the fact that Tony's an impossible git."

"How did you…" Pepper gaped as Natasha dragged her into the penthouse and over to the opulent bathroom.

"What _else_ have you got to cry over?" Natasha sighed, wiping a dampened washcloth over Pepper's red eyes and picking through her makeup bag. She looked at Pepper and smiled ruefully.

"He's not interested in setting a date," Pepper confessed in a rush. "And I'm worried that he's having second thoughts about marrying me…"

"Oh, Pepper," Natasha sighed. "I am surprised at you! You just tell him when and where to show up, and leave me and the guys to make sure it happens. Better yet you should have shown up in a wedding gown today and told him you'd decided to make it a joint wedding. He'd have had no choice but to go through with it."

Pepper couldn't help but laugh weakly at the thought of the look on Tony's face if she'd pulled that stunt. He'd probably have jumped off the roof and summoned a suit on the way down.

"Tony _loves_ you, Pepper," Natasha shook her head at Pepper's expression. "But like nearly every man alive, the thought of actually having anything to do with the wedding probably gives him hives."

Pepper laughed again, smiling as Natasha gently re-applied her makeup. "You really think so?"

"Pepper, seriously, this is _Tony_ we're talking about. His interest in anything flowers and lace-related? Zero." Natasha stood back and admired her handwork. "There, all perfect again. And don't start crying again. Some women can carry off red eyes. You look like a baby seal."

Pepper was laughing again when she came out of the bathroom with Natasha, and she was surprised when Tony suddenly appeared at her side, taking her arm solicitously.

"Darling, are you all right? Steve said he thought he saw you crying."

"Oh," she mentally gathered herself and smiled at him, "just being a girl, you know. We always cry at weddings."

"Our turn next," Tony smiled at her, and she blinked, startled.

"What?"

"Well, I'm damned if I'll let anyone else get the jump on me! There was no talking Barton into waiting – mind you I suppose with a father like Rik Svendson breathing down my neck I'd be in a hurry to make an honest woman out of his daughter as well," Tony grinned. "And they only wanted a small wedding, but I know you want the whole shebang, and that takes time. Have you booked anywhere yet?"

Pepper's mouth was actually hanging open. "Tony! Every time I ask you when you want to get married you put an Iron Man suit on and disappear!"

"Do I?" he looked honestly startled. "Well, barring alien invasions or natural disasters, not today. JARVIS has locked me out of my labs until morning, on _your_ orders, Ms Potts. So you have my undivided attention. Incidentally, have I told you yet how very beautiful you look today?"

This. _This_ was why she loved him. Because when she _did_ have Tony's attention, it was like being bathed in warm sunshine. No one else had ever made her feel this way, and no one else ever would. She stepped closer to him, linking her arms around his waist, kissing his forehead. He tilted his head up slightly to look in her eyes – in her Louboutins she was distinctly taller than he – and gave her that smile he reserved only for her.

_Darcy_

Darcy watched a little jealously as Jen talked and laughed with Clint and their friends. Jen looked so beautiful as a bride; it was her radiant happiness that made her really glow, though, Darcy reflected after a moment of admiring the fabulous designer dress. Jen always seemed so _sure_ of herself. But then, she was a science genius like Jane, Tony and Bruce; the final IQ test results of both Jen and Clint had put them up on a par with the three resident Tower geniuses, and though Clint lacked the education to match their creativity he was learning fast.

Darcy's eyes slid across to the tall, dark-haired man leaning in to kiss Jen's cheek, and her heart clenched a little. Jen's brother Jacques was an amazing guy, perhaps the best she'd ever met, and she was so damn scared of fucking up with him. He was the first boyfriend she'd ever wanted to hang onto. At least he was coming with them when she and Jane left for London next week; Thor was returning to Asgard to deal with some responsibilities there – and check on Loki – and quite sensibly decided Jane shouldn't be without a keeper.

Darcy had actually been promoted to Jane's assistant (with a proper salary and everything!) and they were even getting a new intern. Ian had started work a few days ago, and seemed a capable, bright kid with a huge crush on Darcy, which amused Jacques no end. Darcy had actually considered flirting with Ian just to make Jacques jealous – to see if she _could_ make Jacques jealous – but in the end decided that she might be endangering Ian's health, which would be cruel to the poor boy, especially as she really wasn't interested. Jacques _was_ former Australian SAS, after all!

The soldier-turned-bodyguard felt her eyes on him then, turned and gave her a brilliant smile. Tall and dark-haired, he was very much unlike his tiny, blonde sister, but equally as good-looking. He was also not the demonstrative type, especially not in public, and it made Darcy a little fearful that she wasn't really that important to him. She gave him a smile full of promise, though, and was satisfied to see his smile turn hungry.

_Well, he still wants me in bed. That will have to do for now._

_Bruce_

Bruce's smile was wistful as he watched his friends. It was at moments like this he most missed Betty. He felt the Other Guy stir, below the surface of his mind, and concentrated on breathing steadily, thinking calm, happy thoughts. It wasn't too hard, seeing how joyous Clint and Jen were together.

He had been a little surprised when Clint had stood firm on asking him to be best man – he'd thought for sure the archer would have had another old friend somewhere – but Natasha had drawn him aside and told him that Coulson was the only other friend Clint had really trusted, and with Coulson gone, Clint had chosen Bruce. He was honoured. Clint was a good guy, a genuine hero, the kind of friend who would always come through if you needed him. And Clint deserved every bit of his good fortune; Jen was a helluva girl. She'd stand by her man no matter what this increasingly crazy world threw at them. If only…

No. That way lay dark thoughts and the Other Guy. Not today.

_Steve_

Well, it was nice to know that _some_ things hadn't changed. A bride was still the most beautiful woman in the world on her wedding day, and grooms still looked absolutely stunned by their good fortune.

"Congratulations," Steve told Clint sincerely, shaking his hand. "You're a lucky man."

"I know," the archer answered, turning his head to press a kiss to his new wife's hair. "Luckiest guy in the world." He grinned at Steve. "We're gonna blow this joint in ten minutes." Seeing Steve's eyes widen at the vernacular, he clarified quickly, "Leave the party. Hawaii's waiting and I'm eager to have my bride all to myself."

"We couldn't have guessed," Tony interjected dryly, and then added in his usual sarcastic-covering-genuine-concern way, "And don't forget to check in occasionally, eh?"

"We won't," Jen answered for both of them. "We'll let JARVIS know whenever we're on the move."

"And Skype us regularly," Steve said firmly, bending over to kiss her cheek. She was so tiny he had to bend almost double. "We want to see your pretty face and Clint's ugly mug once in a while."

Jen laughed, and Clint gave Steve a friendly punch on the shoulder. "Stop flirting with my _wife_," he looked unutterably proud and smug just saying the word.

"Go admire Tasha instead," Jen advised him. "She did pick out that dress with you in mind."

"Where is she, anyway?" Tony looked around, bemused.

"Went to the ladies' room with Pepper," Steve said. "I think Pepper was having a bit of a teary overflow."

"Really?" Concerned, Tony was off. "I'm not having my girl crying!"

"We'd better start our goodbyes," Clint told Jen, "I think your mother is going to want to cry over both of us some more before we leave."

Steve smiled, watching them head over to Jen's parents. On instinct, he checked around the roof, glanced out over the city. No threats today. Fury had promised them that the whole of S.H.I.E.L.D. was on high alert, the Helicarrier invisibly floating over the city, and he'd even asked the X-Men and the Fantastic Four to be on duty, patrolling for trouble just in case.

A glint of flame in the sky caught his eye, and he grinned. Looked like Johnny Storm was on aerial patrol. A glimpse of red and blue moving on a distant building made him squint. _Ah_. Spider-Man was out and about too, keeping an eye on things. Nobody was going to be allowed to spoil _this_ special day.

_Thor_

Midgardian formal wear for men was _damnably_ uncomfortable. But Thor would put up with almost anything to see his Lady Jane look as she did now. Ordinarily Jane's idea of dressing up was a clean shirt and remembering to brush her hair, but the other Ladies of the Tower had dragged her out on a shopping expedition, and for something called a 'spa day' yesterday, and the results were – well, suffice to say that Thor was very pleased.

Jane wore a silky scarlet gown with a slim golden chain belt around her tiny waist. _His_ colours, and she looked magnificent in them. He wanted – well, he wanted to take her back to their apartments and debauch her yet again – or perhaps it was her debauching him, he hadn't quite figured that out yet. But even more than that, he wanted to place the diadem of an Asgardian princess on her sleek dark hair, see her stand at his side as the royal she was meant to be.

That would have to wait. His mother had indicated her tentative approval, but it was Odin who would be the stumbling block, Odin who had been after him to marry the Lady Sif for centuries. The thought made Thor ill. He had _grown up_ with Sif; she was as much a sister to him as Loki was a brother. Thinking of her _that way_ made even his strong stomach turn. No, he would have his Lady Jane and no other; his star-maiden with her brilliant mind, her courage and her beauty unmatched on this or any other world.

_Tony_

All was right in Tony Stark's world today as they waved the helicopter carrying the newlyweds off. Even being locked out of his own labs couldn't dent his good mood. Surrounded by his true friends, sure in the knowledge that Pepper actually _wanted_ to marry him – well, he couldn't be happier.

Even Iron Man could have the day off. JARVIS had alerted him a little while ago that Rhodey was out there in the city with the other superhero teams, keeping a lid on things and alert for any trouble. They'd kept news of the wedding very closely held, not wanting any villains to get ambitious, but perhaps even supervillains were nervous of the wrath of the Avengers if they dared interrupt the wedding of one of their own.

Tony glanced around. Everyone was well-supplied with expensive champagne – even Bruce had put a splash in a glass before filling it to the brim with orange juice. Tony smiled expansively, lifting his own glass in a toast.

"So Clint and Jen have abandoned us, but that doesn't mean we can't party hard in their honour! To Mr and Mrs Hawkeye!"

_Many hours later, Moloka'i, Hawaii_

It was full dark by the time they got to the little house by the beach, but Jen could hear the ocean and she wanted to feel the sand between her toes. It had been too long since she saw the sea. After they'd sorted out where to put their things – and she'd suffered a minor case of shock on discovering that Clint had turned her into a member of the super-spy community without her knowledge – she showered quickly, grabbed a light sundress from the top of her bag and threw it on while Clint was checking out the house. He trusted the people who'd loaned it to them – they owed him their lives – but his institutional paranoia would never let him relax entirely.

"Come on," she found him in the kitchen, getting a glass of water after finishing his patrol, "I want to go walk on the beach!"

"It's dark," he pointed out, and she raised her eyebrows at him.

"Is the mighty Hawkeye afraid of the dark?" she teased.

Clint huffed at her. "All right. Just let me get into something more comfortable." He'd long since discarded his suit jacket and tie, unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, but he was still wearing dress pants and shoes.

"You've got two minutes or I'm going without you!" Jen shouted after him as he headed for their bedroom.

"Thinking of abandoning me already?" he was back in less than the specified time, stripped down to just a pair of board shorts. Jen caught her breath at the sight of his broad, muscled chest, powerful arms reaching for her. She skipped back just in time.

"Nope: you'll have to catch me first!" and she sprinted out through the open French doors onto the lanai, jumped off the low deck and took off down the beach towards the ocean at a hard run.

Caught by surprise, Clint still ran her down before she got to the water's edge, pulling her down to the sand in a laughing tangle of limbs, rolling her underneath his body and kissing her heatedly until she no longer had the urge to laugh.

"Is this a private beach?" Jen gasped out as his hand slid up her thigh.

"Yes – you haven't got anything on under this dress!" he reared up, shocked, and then started laughing. "What, have you got a sex-on-the-beach fantasy?"

"Yup," she grabbed his hair, pulling him back down to her, "and as my husband, it's your job to make sure _all_ my fantasies are _fully_ satisfied."

"My pleasure," he said thickly, his hand slipping back to the warm wetness between her thighs, "but don't blame _me_ if you get friction burn, darlin'." Pushing her skirt up to her waist, he slid down across her body and opened his mouth to taste. He teased gently, his hot tongue flicking, gathering moisture, not giving Jen the pressure she needed until she called his name in a high, breathy voice, begging him for what she knew only he could give her.

"Hawk, _please_," Jen gasped out. He was teasing, taunting; his tongue dancing over her button, one callused finger sliding torturously slowly in and out of her slick passage. "Please!"

"Anything for you, darlin'," he wriggled out of his shorts and covered her with his body, running one hand into her hair and holding her head still so that he could take her lips in a fierce kiss even while his cock slid slowly deep inside her.

"Oh my God," Jen's eyes rolled back in her head at the feel of him. He was thick and rock-hard, slowly filling her up until she felt ready to explode. A dark laugh sounded in her ear, and he began to move, his mouth plundering hers as his hips rocked faster. She clawed at his back, her thighs clamping tightly to his sides, moans escaping her throat as he pushed her steadily higher.

Clint would never get over how amazing Jen felt clenched around him, how the soft noises she made drove him to the edge of madness. He lifted his head and looked at her, head thrown back, her hair spilling around her face, starlight illuminating her lovely features. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, and to him she had never looked more beautiful.

"I love you," he groaned desperately, feeling the tightening at the base of his spine that heralded his own release. "God, darlin', I love you _so much_."

A smile touched her lips, and she opened her eyes and brought one hand to his cheek, gazing at him with her love clear on her face. And then her mouth opened in an O and he felt it, the rippling grasp of her internal muscles clenching around him, and let go himself, hips jerking as a lightning bolt of ecstasy shattered his world.

**A/N: Well, hopefully that will last my fans until next week when I can get the next chapter written. I'm working hard on the sequel as well (you'll be happy to hear I'm over 12,000 words in).**

**As always, I very much appreciate your thoughts and comments so PLEASE PLEASE review!**


	2. Finders Ain't Keepers, Mate

**Finders Ain't Keepers, Mate**

**So here's what Jacques was up to during the events of Thor 2 – for those of you who may have forgotten, I cast James Franco as Jacques Svendson. He's the older brother of Jen who married Clint in my major story **_**Through A Glass Darkly**_**. He's a former Australian SAS soldier who was transferred to the Avengers Initiative because they needed someone anonymous to help with their dirty work. He's also an excellent scientist babysitter **

**He transferred to London with Jane and Darcy for two reasons: first because Thor asked him to look after Jane, so he's officially her bodyguard, and secondly because he's sleeping with Darcy. This story begins in the scene early in Thor 2 where Darcy, Ian and Jane are checking out the gravitational anomalies in the abandoned warehouse with the street kids and dropping things down the stairwell. In my version, Jacques is with them.**

Jacques was so fascinated, it took him a few minutes to realise that Dr. Foster had disappeared.

"Darcy, stay here," he ordered, and she glanced up at him and nodded just as Intern Ian (henceforth to be known as Idiot Intern Ian) dropped the car keys into the void. And they didn't come back.

Shaking his head, Jacques jogged on up the stairs. Footprints and scuff marks in the dust and trash littering the abandoned building told him which way Jane had gone.

"Jane," he called, jogging along a darkened corridor, trained eyes scanning the ground. Suddenly he stopped. Those were – drag marks? _Fuck!_ "JANE!" he bellowed it this time, and started running fast. All of a sudden he bounced off – nothing? and hit the ground hard. He scrambled up and put his hands out in front of him cautiously.

There was nothing there, but it was rock solid. And the drag marks on the floor stopped right at the boundary of the – nothing. _Oh my God. Thor is going to kill me. I've lost Jane._

"Jacques, what is it?" Darcy came running up behind him, out of breath, and he held out a hand to stop her from running into the wall of nothing too.

"There's something here." He put his hand out, feeling along the invisible boundary, checking if it went all the way across the corridor, thinking inconsequentially that he must look like one of those mimes pretending they're in a glass box.

Darcy stared, wide-eyed. And then – the wall of nothing seemed to soften, and his hand went through. And disappeared. He could still feel it, but not see it.

"Okay, fuck, that's creepy," Darcy said, distressed, grabbing at his other arm. "Jacques, don't!"

"Jane went through here," he looked at her, at her huge blue eyes, her dark hair tumbling from beneath her knit cap. "I have to follow. Stay here, Darcy. I'll get Jane and be back as soon as I can." _If I can_. And with a quick twist of his wrist, he disengaged her hand on his arm and stepped through the invisible barrier.

"_Jacques!_" Darcy let out a scream of pure fright. And, distantly, behind her, heard an answering yell. "Jacques?" she spun around and ran back the way she'd come.

She found him at the bottom of a stairwell, one leg horribly, unnaturally crumpled beneath him, blood seeping slowly onto the filthy concrete. He was barely conscious. There was no sign of Jane.

"Jacques, oh my God," Darcy went to her knees beside him, frightened to touch him in case he'd broken his back or his neck. "Call for an ambulance!" she screamed at Ian, who was following her and now stood, hovering stupidly.

"No signal – right," Ian bolted at Darcy's glare.

"Darce," Jacques gasped out, managing to lift his hand to touch her cheek as she crouched over him. "The portal – just dropped me here. Don't know where Jane went. Find her – be careful – don't go through portals…" and with the last of his strength, he whispered; "Love you, Darce…"

She stayed with him, sobbing, until the ambulance arrived and the paramedics very slowly, very carefully loaded him onto a body board and carried him away. She thought to ask what hospital they would take him to, because, no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't go with him. She had to find Jane.

Hours and hours later, after she'd convinced the police to look for Jane _before_ they arrested her for trespassing, after Jane had come out of the building and there was some weird-ass explosion and rain and Thor disappearing in a burst of light _with_ Jane and too many things for Darcy to cope with, she found herself in a police lock-up, staring up at a burly, irritated desk sergeant.

"One phone call. I need my one phone call."

"All right, all right," he snapped, and let her out. With shaking fingers, Darcy tapped in the number Jacques had made her memorise, and after a single ring, a smooth British voice answered.

"Avengers Tower. How may I direct your call?"

"Oh, JARVIS, thank God," Darcy whimpered.

An hour later, a very smooth lawyer bailed both her and Ian out and drove them to St. Bartholomew's Hospital, where Darcy found that Jacques was in surgery to pin and repair his leg. Much screaming and hysterical invocation of Tony Stark's name later (because money really does talk loudest) the orthopaedic surgeon joined them and explained to Darcy very nicely that Jacques was going to be absolutely fine, and yes, he would be put in the hospital's finest private suite as soon as he was out of recovery, and yes, she could be with him when he started coming out from under the anaesthetic.

And so, when Jacques' eyelids began to flutter groggily open, he saw the face of an angel at his bedside. Tear-stained, hair wild, her lips swollen from biting at them fearfully, Darcy still looked utterly beautiful to him.

"Darce," he groaned. "Where's Jane?" Even barely conscious, his duty had to come first.

"Thor has her."

"'Kay." He fumbled one hand free of the heavy blanket weighing him down and reached for her. "_You_ okay?"

"I'm fine." Her mouth twitched into a wobbly smile as she clutched at his hand like a lifeline. "Don't worry, Jacques. Everyone's fine but you."

"Be right in no time," he sighed, feeling his eyelids starting to drift again. He smiled when he heard her voice, even though it seemed to be coming from very far away.

"You better had be, Jacques Svendson, 'cause weird shit is goin' down again and I don't think I can cope without you!"

"Find Selvig," he sighed out before consciousness escaped him again.

Jacques came round a few hours later to find Pepper sitting by his bed, reading something on a StarkSlate. "Ms. Potts?" he said weakly.

"Jacques! Oh I'm so glad you're awake," Pepper immediately put the slate down and leant over him.

"Where's Darcy?"

"She and Ian are off breaking Doctor Selvig out of a lunatic asylum. Um – apparently there was an incident at Stonehenge."

He really didn't feel equipped to deal with that. "Reinforcements?" he asked weakly.

"On their way," Pepper had the grace to look uncomfortable. "Um, we're a little bit thin on the ground. Darcy was adamant about not calling S.H.I.E.L.D., so we've kept it in-house, but – well – Steve and Natasha are undercover somewhere. I've left messages but they might be a while. Tony and Rhodey are in Somalia dealing with, uh, an _incident_ that got a bit out of control. Bruce is on a plane but he was in LA so it's going to be another full day before he gets here. Same with your parents. I managed to find Clint and Jen in Thailand and they're on a plane too, they'll probably get here first."

"So…" Jacques cursed the drugs in his system that were making his head feel fuzzy. He looked at the IV going into his arm and reached to rip it out. "Fuck, they've got me on morphine. I can't think. So we're on our own?"

"Jacques," Pepper said softly, staying his hand, "there's no _we_. _You_ are out of this fight, and all I can do is provide support. It's up to Thor, and Jane, and Doctor Selvig."

"_Darcy's_ out there," he tried to pluck her hand off his arm, but he was as weak as a kitten, "with nothing but a sodding kid to protect her from whatever the fuck is coming!" he had a terrible feeling that something ominous was happening.

"And there's nothing you can do about it! Jacques, your leg was broken in _four places_," Pepper grabbed his chin and made him look. His right leg was indeed in a cast, suspended from the ceiling by pulleys. "You're going _nowhere_."

Pepper was right about who arrived first: Clint and Jen. But they arrived in London two hours too late. The Convergence had already happened, and all over the television was the mess of Greenwich and people talking about Thor and alien ships. Pepper had JARVIS continually dialling the phones of everyone they gave a damn about, and eventually Darcy picked up.

"We're all alive," she said succinctly, and Jacques let out a groan of relief as he heard her voice from the speaker of Pepper's phone. "I have to go. I think we might be all about to get arrested. Again."

"Don't hang up, Darcy, I'm on my way," Pepper stood and moved briskly towards the door, glancing at Jacques, who nodded at her. She yanked the door open and almost walked straight into Clint and Jen.

"Thank fuck," Jacques said on seeing his sister and brother-in-law, "Clint, can you go with Pepper?"

Hawkeye took one look at him, nodded and pushed Jen towards her brother. "Stay here, darlin'. I'll be back."

Within hours (hours too late, Jacques couldn't help but think bitterly) the rest of the Avengers were there. Plus his parents, his mother fussing over him until he wanted to scream. But Darcy didn't come.

Jane came, the day after, with Doctor Selvig who he hadn't met before, and Ian the Intern who couldn't look him in the eye for some reason. And the day after that, Thor reappeared, looking haggard and tired and saying that Loki and Frigga were both dead. They mourned Frigga, but none of them could grieve for Loki, though they would not say so to Thor. And then Thor gave him a vile potion that tasted like motor oil and burned through his veins like liquid nitrogen, shattered his cast with a crunch of his fingers, and Jacques' leg was whole again.

"The potion?" he asked, bemused, as Thor helped him to his feet.

"Made by my mother," Thor rumbled with a half-smile. "She told me that it would come in handy with my Midgardian friends."

"You shouldn't have wasted it on me…"

"It will not run out so easily, my friend. Now come. Let us away from this place."

"Where the _hell_ is Darcy?" Jacques demanded several hours later. Stark had, as usual, found them a bar and everyone was there celebrating and drinking, though Thor and Jane had snuck off into a corner and were making out like a pair of horny teenagers.

"Er," it was Ian, his ears bright red, unable to look Jacques in the eye. "Er, Jacques – there's something I have to tell you."

"What? Oh, for fuck's sake," he couldn't hear a thing over the loud music Stark had demanded blaring from the speakers. "Here," he dragged Ian over to the doors and out onto the street. "What is it, mate? Do you know where Darcy is?"

Ian's whole face had gone red by now, and he kept casting frantic looks over Jacques' shoulder as though looking for help. "She didn't want to come tonight."

"Why the fuck not? She was a heroine, from what Jane told me. Helped save the world."

"She was, she was amazing," Ian's eyes went dreamy. "Only, um, she kind of, got a bit caught up in the moment."

"Spit it out," Jacques folded his arms and glared when Ian started stuttering.

"Shekissedme. Twice." Ian gabbled it and then cowered back as though expecting a punch.

"She kissed you." Jacques stood, staring at the smaller man. He had a couple of inches in height on Ian and about fifty pounds of muscle.

"Yeah, I kind of saved her life from some of the creepy dark elf things and then she kissed me. And then when it was all over she kissed me again."

"_She_ kissed _you_."

"Yeah. Look, you know I like her," Ian stood tall and bravely looked Jacques in the eye. "You weren't there and I thought I was gonna die and hell yes, I kissed her back. Only each time, once she realised what she was doing – well, the first time she actually dropped me on my ass, and the second she kind of slapped herself in the head and apologised. You know I'd never have made a move on her," Ian gave a self-deprecating smile, "I'm too fucking terrified of you."

"You're not as daft as you look, then," Jacques said dryly, though his mind was whirling. _Why the fuck was Darcy kissing Ian? Did she prefer Ian to him? _"So are you and Darce…"

Ian shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. "If you don't want her now she's played around on you, I'm perfectly happy to be her shoulder to cry on."

"You've got guts, kid," Jacques said after a moment of thinking it through. "But the fact that you're here and Darcy's not, tells me that she turned down that offer and kicked you out. I'm willing to bet she's crying into a bottle of red wine right about now because she knows I'd find out and she believes I won't want her any more."

Ian looked at him with wide, astonished eyes, and Jacques nodded to himself.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Finders ain't keepers, mate. Darcy's _mine_. I'll give you a free pass this time because you saved her life, but you ever touch her again, I'll break you in half."

Ian nodded jerkily, watching as Jacques turned away and walked into the street, hailing a cab. He sagged back against the wall, breathing hard. _Fuck. The big Aussie soldier was a scary bastard_. He flinched as a shadow emerged from the alley beside the bar, resolving into the insanely beautiful Natasha Romanov.

"Do you have any idea how lucky you are to be alive right now?" the Black Widow asked him in a conversational tone.

"You're not talking about the Dark Elves, are you?"

"Nup."

"I have some idea, yeah."

"Smart kid. Come on back inside and have another drink. I hear you're a decent scientist wrangler? We can always use another one of those."

The apartment door opened and slammed shut, and Darcy looked up blearily, expecting Jane and Thor to come stumbling through on the way to Jane's bedroom. Or perhaps Erik, in which case she would have to do her best to make him keep his pants on. She blinked several times at the impossible sight before her, of Jacques, on his feet, coming towards her swiftly with a furious look on his face.

"Jack," she slurred, too drunk to pronounce his name properly. "Wow. I'm hallucinating. Must be more drunk than I thought."

He glanced once at the table with the two wine bottles on it, one of them empty and the other one nearly so. "I'm not going to get much sense out of you tonight, am I Darce? Unless your truth comes out of a wine bottle. Why d'you kiss Ian, eh?"

Tears trickled down her cheeks as she gazed up at him. "I don't know. I wanted you to be there and I thought I was gonna die and I knew he liked me…"

"So you just did it because you could." He folded his arms, knowing he looked intimidating, and frankly not caring.

"It was _terrible_," she said in a sobbing gasp. "Like kissing a dead fish. I tried twice because the first time I think he just panicked but the second time was worse."

"I still don't get why you kissed him at all!" Jacques wasn't sure why he was so worked up about something as stupid as a kiss, but the thought of anyone else touching Darcy made him clench his fists with rage. Darcy was her own woman, though, not a possession, and the choice was hers to make. It was just that he didn't think he could bear it if she chose anyone other than him.

"Because you _left_ me, to go through that _stupid_ portal after Jane and I thought you were _dead_ and then you weren't but I thought you _might_ die and then I thought _I_ was gonna die…"

"Okay, okay," he realised that she was totally overwrought. She'd wanted physical comfort after too many shocks and he really couldn't begrudge that she'd sought it from Ian, who she was well aware had a crush on her. "It doesn't matter, Darce. It really doesn't."

"You forgive me?" she managed to get to her feet and wobbled over to him, putting her hands on his arms to steady herself. "I'm so sorry. I'll never do it again. I love you so much…"

"You do?" he blinked, startled. She'd never said _that_ to him before.

"Of course I fucking do, you stupid Aussie prick, only I feel so young and stupid and not good enough for you," she was crying again, and he was helpless before her tears. Gently he folded her in his arms, petting her hair, letting her sniffle into his shirt.

"I love you, Darcy Lewis, you crazy fool girl," he murmured against her hair. "Totally and completely, from the first moment you sat down on my lap in Avengers Tower instead of trying to hit on Captain America or responding to Tony Stark's flirting." He grinned, remembering the moment.

The other Avengers had been trying to get him drunk to distract him from the fact that his sister was trying to sneak off to do the dirty with Hawkeye, and Darcy had proved a very pleasant distraction, a curvaceous flirty lapful he'd been quite happy to be distracted by. She'd been in his bed ever since, and he had no intention of letting her out of it.

Right now, though, she was falling-down drunk, and he sighed and lifted her into his arms. "Come on, my beautiful girl. A big glass of water for you and then bed."

Darcy woke up wrapped around – she had a little panic as she checked, oh thank God – Jacques. He was always so deliciously warm, even in the miserable British weather. She went to the bathroom, took some painkillers for her pounding head, and then curled up to her big Aussie hot water bottle again. He opened one dark eye and squinted at her.

"Just promise me you won't kiss Ian again?"

"Oh, shit." Darcy didn't remember much about the night before. "You know?"

"Yeah, and I don't care." He tangled big hands in her hair and kissed her, long and slow. "But here's fair warning," he murmured against her lips. "From now on, this beautiful mouth is _mine_."

Darcy groaned as his strong, skilful hands went to work on her body. "I do love you," she gasped out when he stopped kissing her for a moment to trail his lips down her neck.

"Try to remember that next time someone else saves your life," Jacques told her, his hands stilling for a moment. "I was about this close," he measured a small space between finger and thumb, "to killing Ian."

"Oh don't, he's a sweet kid…" Darcy trailed off at the black expression on Jacques' face. "Okay, okay," she smiled, trying to tease him out of it. "Look, I was a _bit_ flattered. He's been following me round like a puppy. And he really did save my life."

"Yeah, well he's made me come over all possessive. You belong to _me_, Miss Lewis," he enforced that statement by sliding a thick finger inside her, and chafing gently over her clit with his thumb. "Don't you?"

"Yes!" Darcy gasped and squeaked as his thumb rubbed faster. "Omigod, _yes_!"

He left his marks on her; bruised, swollen lips, hickeys all over her tender throat, her breasts, her thighs, fingerprint bruises on her hips; and she was walking decidedly bow-legged when he finally let her stumble from the bed. Her smile, though, was blinding and utterly satiated, and when they went out into the main room to find some food, Ian glanced up from his laptop, gave Darcy a quick look, blushed and looked at Jacques. And in the younger man's eyes, Jacques saw only surrender. He nodded in acknowledgement and went to the kitchen to see if Thor had left any food.

**Hope you enjoyed that! Next up, a little scene from the end of the movie, where Loki has a chat with Sif and the Warriors Three. For an explanation of how Loki came to sit on the throne, read the one-shot called **_**Glass Houses**_** written by **_**Eternal Love Song**_**. It fits in nicely with this headcanon!**


	3. Trusting The Trickster

**Trusting The Trickster**

**OK, so this is a little scene right after Thor leaves Asgard at the end of Thor 2 and we see that Loki is masquerading as Odin. For an explanation of why Loki is sitting on the throne, read **_**Glass Houses**_** written by** _**Eternal Love Song**_**; this fits totally in my headcanon and the author has been kind enough to let me borrow it.**

"Yes, thank you, brother. Thank you very fucking much." Loki leaned back against the throne, his smile disappearing. He was still sitting there, alone, an hour later when he felt the tug of magic in his bones that told him the Bifrost was opening. And half an hour after that when the throne room doors opened. Of course, he was wearing his illusion of Odin again by then.

Heimdall entered the room, followed by Sif, Fandral, Volstagg and – Loki blinked – Hogun. He'd thought Hogun intended to stay on Vanaheim with his own people.

"What do you here, Hogun?" he asked, in Odin's voice.

"It seems we're not quite done with war yet," Hogun lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug before lapsing into his customary silence.

"Many of our finest warriors perished in the fight with the Svartalfar," Fandral said. "With Thor gone, we need every capable warrior we can find."

"Thor will return if he is needed," Heimdall rumbled. "He is vowed to protect all the Nine Realms."

They all fell silent, and stood watching him. Loki sighed.

"You know, don't you?"

"The Allfather called me to him before he laid down for the Odinsleep," Heimdall replied. "He told me of his plans, and he told me who I could trust." He indicated the four around him. "Thor knows nothing of this."

"Nor shall he learn it from our mouths. We are all sworn to secrecy," Volstagg replied.

Loki dropped the illusion. None of the warriors standing before him changed expression, though Sif's hand twitched towards her sword. Loki watched her warily. She hadn't spoken yet; and she was the one who could probably derail everything if she wished. Heimdall was her brother and would listen to her, and the other three followed her without question, at least in Thor's absence.

"Lady Sif," he said quietly. "Will you give me your loyalty while I sit here as Regent?"

Her hand clenched on her sword-hilt, her beautiful face twitching with suppressed emotion. She did not speak, and she did not kneel. So Loki leaned forward on the throne and told her the truth.

"Because I need your help. All of you."

Emotions finally registered on their faces. Surprise. Wariness.

"Why?" Fandral asked.

"Because I cannot do everything that Odin can do. The ravens can't stand me, for one. I can create illusions so that it looks as though they come to me, but they won't. I know they like you, Volstagg. I need you to talk to them, to find out what I need to know."

Volstagg grinned, nodding. Hugin and Munin did like him, mainly because he always fed them.

"I need Heimdall to keep me informed of events on Midgard; because I have promises to keep there. I am oath-bound to protect Midgard from alien threats and we do not know what escaped to Earth during the Convergence. I cannot go unless the Avengers call me, and they must continue to think I am dead, or Thor will want to return." It was a difficult conundrum; he had to keep two conflicting oaths, and he would definitely need help from the warriors standing before him.

"Fandral, you are commander of the Palace Guard: to you I leave the security of Asgard. There are still escaped prisoners out there that Kurse released. They must be found."

The Guardian nodded in agreement to his request; Heimdall knew the details of Loki's oath to Jen Barton. Fandral agreed too; he understood the necessity of what Loki asked, quite apart from the fact that he was realistically only being asked to do his job. They could not hand back Asgard in chaos when the Allfather emerged from the Odinsleep.

"Hogun," Loki turned to the silent warrior of Vanaheim. "I did not know you returned, but I am glad that you have. I need you to be what you have always been, the silent watcher. Travel among the Realms, feel the mood of the citizens, and report back to me or Fandral if there is anything we need to deal with."

Hogun nodded once, an almost pleased expression crossing his face. He loved to travel and to observe. Perhaps he should begin training as another Guardian. Heimdall wasn't invincible, after all. Loki filed that thought for later and turned to the last of the warriors in front of him. She spoke before he did, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"And what task do you have for me, _Regent_ of Asgard?"

"Leave us," Loki looked at the others. It annoyed him that they waited for Sif's nod before filing out. Heimdall lingered longest, looking at his sister until she gestured impatiently. The door closed behind Heimdall with a solid _thunk_.

"Will you sit, my Lady Sif?" he stood and walked to a group of chairs set to one side, used sometimes by Odin's advisors.

"Just Sif, Loki," she sighed, taking a seat opposite him, though he noticed she sat on the edge of the chair, ready to move quickly, her hand never far from the hilt of her sword. She could kill him with that blade, he knew: she'd made a point of seeking him out in his prison cell and informing him that she'd studied up on Jotun biology and knew exactly where his weak spots were. It wasn't for nothing that the Vikings had worshipped her as the Goddess of War. "Just call me Sif."

The only blessing was that she had no magic. That she couldn't see that he retained one small illusion.

"As you wish, Sif," he inclined his head slightly to her.

"What is it that you want of me, Loki?" She met his eyes directly. He fought not to twitch in his seat. Why, oh _why_ did this passion for strong women beset him? He'd loved Guinevere, the warrior queen, had wanted her descendant Jen. Who had, like Guinevere before her, chosen a warrior. A woman of such strength would never choose a man like him, who fought with guile and cunning, he was coming to understand that now. Sif was no different.

Of course, she had refused Thor. Well, Odin, when he had demanded she offer herself to Thor as a bride. But perhaps that was because she knew well that Thor had no taste for the idea.

Loki dragged his thoughts back into some semblance of order as Sif arched a perfect black brow at him, waiting for him to speak.

"I need you to be my conscience."

"Well," she drawled, "you're certainly in need of one. But why me?"

"Because of everyone in Asgard, you and Heimdall are perhaps the only two with a chance of stopping me if I step out of line. And he's busy."

She relaxed slightly into her chair, watching him from stormy grey eyes. He wished that he could tell what she was thinking, but he'd never been able to read Sif.

"So what exactly would being your conscience entail?" she asked finally.

"I tend towards a calculated, devious approach. You know this. And I'm honest enough with myself to know that I am quite vicious. Both of those traits are not well in character for Odin, and they are completely out of character for _you_. I'm hoping that between us we can find a middle ground that will fool the rest of Asgard into believing that my father still holds the throne."

She tapped a slender finger against her lips. "I agree with your assessment," she said eventually, "though your lady mother's death would be cause enough for Odin to act out of character, more in line with your own natural tendencies."

He flinched, and she leaned forward. "Loki – I'm sorry. I'm genuinely sorry for Lady Frigga's death. She was like a mother to me too, since my own passed on."

"I know," he said, after a deep, ragged breath. "Also, I have obligations I must keep. My oath to protect Midgard."

"Heimdall told me of it," Sif said, still watching him with compassion on her face. "All these years, and you still regret Guinevere?" she said softly, when he did not speak for a moment.

"You were her closest friend, Sif, who could not have loved her? And her daughter in this time is just as amazing, in her own way. I in my selfishness believed I was more worthy than the archer."

She only watched him silently while he struggled to contain his emotions. And damn her for knowing him so well, anyway!

Loki controlled himself. Smoothed his expression. "My year of imprisonment is not yet complete. Thor had agreed to oversee the sentence and when he brought me out, agreed that for every hour I spend outside the cell, I must spend another hour inside it, until the full count of hours for the year has been served. I need you to be my jailer. And, if necessary, to act on Midgard on my behalf."

She looked surprised at that. "You trust me that far?"

"I trust you with my life already, Sif. You _know_ I'm not Odin."

"True." She considered him for a long moment, and then slowly nodded her head, long raven tresses swaying around her as she got to her feet. "I will help you, Loki. Yes."

"First," he stood, offering his hand to seal the bargain, "I need you and Volstagg to run an errand for me."

It wasn't until she'd left the room, closing the door behind her, that Loki sagged back into his chair, dropping the last small illusion and putting his hand to his groin to adjust himself painfully. He could never, _ever_ let Sif know how much she aroused him. Because if he did, she'd castrate him with that damned sword. Why did his tailor make his bloody trousers so _tight_?

**LOL sorry, couldn't resist that last bit. This scene explains for me why Sif turns up in Agents of SHIELD hunting Lorelei, and also how Loki manages to keep his oath to Jen, while still letting Thor go to be with Jane and obeying Odin. Loki's gonna have to work his butt off and Sif will keep his nose to the grindstone ****.**


	4. Well, This Is Embarrassing

**Well, This Is Embarrassing**

**This scene, for me, occurs during Captain America: The Winter Soldier, right after the battle on the **_**Lemuria Star**_**. Steve catches Natasha hacking the computers, and she admits to him that she had her own set of orders.**

**After all they've become to each other during the events of Through A Glass Darkly, Steve felt utterly betrayed that Natasha didn't tell him the truth.**

"Not now," Steve said crisply as he strode up the quinjet's ramp, Natasha slumped in his arms.

Brock Rumlow raised a dark eyebrow at him. "The Director's on the com, sir. Asking for your action report."

"All the terrorists are dead, hostages are rescued, Romanoff is injured but she fulfilled her mission. There. Now go away. And stop calling me sir!" Steve shouted after the STRIKE leader, who just shook his head and walked towards the cockpit.

Steve laid Natasha gently down on the medical bay stretcher as the jet lifted off. "You'll be okay, Tasha," he murmured softly as he began to check her wounds. Nothing severe, but that last explosion had been a doozy and she'd smacked her head hard on the console they'd taken shelter under. She blinked up at him now, her green eyes unfocussed.

"Steve," she mumbled. "Love…"

"Not here!" he hissed, flushing. Their relationship was a secret within SHIELD; only Fury and Hill knew, and both of them had agreed to keep silent.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes, and he frowned.

"For what?" He assumed she meant for almost revealing their relationship.

"Not telling you. Orders. Won't do it any more. I've disobeyed orders often enough – would do it a thousand times more for you. So sorry, Steve…"

He brought his hand to her hair, caressing the long red strands gently. "It's all right, Natasha. I understand. I forgive you."

She smiled at him before her eyes drifted shut.

Steve sighed and reached for the medical kit, a rueful smile twisting his lips as he extracted the supplies he would need to treat Natasha's minor wounds. He couldn't stay angry with her for long. At the end of the day, the slender Russian assassin held his heart in the palm of her deceptively delicate hand. And she always would.

Brock Rumlow stood in the shadows, watching silently, unobserved, as Captain America treated the Black Widow's wounds. He'd thought that they might be able to recruit Romanoff back to their side – she was nothing if not a pragmatist – but he'd known as soon as it was certain Steve Rogers was alive, that he would have to be eliminated. And considering the way she'd just looked at Rogers – well. Rumlow sighed and mentally noted that they'd have to come up with a plan to cross the Widow off too. When the time came. He smiled, a little sadistically. Perhaps they'd let him do it. He'd always wanted to find out just what it was that made Romanoff so damn special. He could chain her to a wall and find out.

**Author's Note: That turned suddenly dark on me there at the end. Well, we all know Rumlow's sick little fantasy didn't come true.**

**Yet. He didn't die in CA:TWS, after all. Hehe.**

**And here's my little confession: of all the bad guys in the MCU, Brock Rumlow is the one who I'd willingly let chain me to a wall and have his wicked way with me. Grrr. That man is sex on legs.**

**One more one-shot to come in this little group (Fury and Maria, during and after the staging of his death) and then I will start posting the sequel to Through A Glass Darkly. And (drum-roll) hopefully that will be by this time next week!**


	5. I Can't Do This Without You

**I Can't Do This Without You**

**A scene between Nick Fury and Maria Hill, during CA:TWS.**

"Don't do it, Nick," Maria tried to fight back her tears. "Please. It's too risky. We might not be able to bring your heart back up to speed again."

He gazed up at her, looking oddly shrunken and diminished on the operating table, fighting for breath. "I have to, Maria. If they don't believe I'm dead, they won't stop until I am. I have to do this. And you have to make it look real. Grieve for me – and take over."

"No."

"What?" he blinked his one good eye in surprise. "Maria…"

"No. I don't want your job, Nick. I never did. And if you are a target, then I will be doubly so once they realise I won't be a puppet. Besides," she gave a rather watery smile, "if you think I'm leaving you alone, you've got another think coming."

He tried to smile, his fingers pressing lightly on hers. "We still have to do this. Even if you are coming with me."

"Damn right I am," she said through her tears. "You won't get rid of me that easily, Nick Fury. I can't do this without you."

"And I can't do this without you," he said softly. Her comm chimed, and they both looked at each other, knowing what it meant. She had to leave him now. Go and watch his staged 'death', grieve for him in front of two of the very few people who knew what she and Nick meant to each other.

"I love you," she said quietly, the first time she'd ever said the words aloud. His eye opened wide, and he let out a faint, pained laugh.

"You do pick your moments, Maria."

She stood in the viewing gallery, Steve and Natasha beside her, and she didn't have to fake the tears as she watched the doctors working on Nick. Natasha took her hand in silent sympathy – Maria and Nick's relationship was as secret within SHIELD as Steve and Natasha's was – and the two of them stood together, tears streaking their faces as the doctors called it.

Maria knew that Natasha looked on Nick Fury as the only father she could remember. That she'd truly loved and respected him, and that she was going to be _pissed_ when she found out Maria had faked this. So Maria left her to say her goodbyes, although she paced outside the room, checking her watch frantically. _Eleven minutes_. She had eleven more minutes to get Nick somewhere that she could slam the adrenaline needle into his heart, and that was cutting it fine… _enough_.

"I have to take him now," she walked in, and Natasha turned to her, tears trickling down her cheeks, and nodded silently.

_Three minutes_. Maria sucked in a deep breath, pulled the prepared syringe from her pocket and slammed it against Fury's chest. They were in the back of a van, supposedly on their way to take the Director's body to a funeral home.

It seemed to take far too long for him to take that first, gasping breath. Maria sagged in relief.

"Thank God. I thought for a moment there you'd actually died on me."

"I wouldn't dare," came the low, rasping reply. Maria smiled and placed an oxygen mask over his face.

"Hush now. Let me take care of you."

Once they reached the tiny hidden base, she made him comfortable and changed into combat fatigues. She'd have to leave all too soon, there was work to do, the word coming in from agents personally loyal to her was horrendous. But for right now, she sat down beside the hospital bed and took Nick's hand in hers. Listening to the slowly strengthening beats of his heart through the monitor.

"I love you," he said quietly, late in the night, pulling the oxygen mask from his face with his free hand, and she smiled.

"Well, your timing is _slightly_ better than mine."

**This was intended to be the last of the one-shots filling in between Through A Glass Darkly and A Shattered Reflection. But quite a few people have asked me to carry on the Loki/Sif one, so a quick question: would you like me to write Loki and Sif getting together? It wouldn't be a smut scene. Probably just a kiss and fade to black.**

**And no, it wouldn't slow down my writing on anything else **


	6. The Final Proof

**The Final Proof**

Some days, Loki thought the exhaustion would break him.

How Odin had managed all this, he could not fathom. The old man had made it look so damn effortless. Loki was doing his best to portray Odin's usual (slightly grim) demeanour to the world – it made the illusion of his foster-father's face easier – but he had the feeling that those who knew Odin well were concerned about him.

_Of course they're concerned about him, he's still grieving Frigga_, Loki thought, pain shadowing his eyes as he thought of his lovely mother. And he suspected that Frigga had shared far more of the ruling of Asgard than he had ever realised. The pettiest little problems kept being brought to his notice, that he was sure Frigga would once have handled.

"Delegate," Fandral said with a shrug. The Warriors Three, Loki and Sif had taken to joining Heimdall in the Bifrost Chamber at the end of the day, sharing information and ideas, deciding on tactics and strategy. Effectively, Asgard was now run by a council with Loki as its figurehead. He smiled humourlessly at that thought. And to think he had once wanted to be sole ruler! What an idiot. He relied so heavily on these five, could not imagine how he could make fair decisions without them.

"To whom?" Loki asked wearily. "These tasks were those my mother would have handled: I know nothing of them. Lady Sif…?"

"Household management is not one of my skills, as you know," she replied with a small smile. "But perhaps some of your mother's former ladies-in-waiting? Lady Eidr served with her for many years, Lady Frigga always said that she could not do without her advice. She would be honoured to assist Odin, I am sure."

"Thank you, Sif," Loki said, genuinely surprised and pleased. It was rare for Sif to offer a helpful suggestion. Usually she confined herself to making biting remarks about how inadequate he was as a ruler, whenever he admitted to some problem he could not manage.

Heimdall suddenly stiffened, gazing out across the cosmos. "Damn her!" he snapped suddenly.

"What is it?" they all turned to him quickly.

"Lorelei. She has kept herself hidden from my sight since escaping from prison during the Dark Elves' attack. But she has somehow managed to create a portal and travel between the worlds: she is on Midgard!"

"Looking for Thor?" Fandral asked immediately.

"She – is not on the same continent as he is, right now. He remains in Londinium with his Lady Jane, and Lorelei is in the land of the Americas." Heimdall frowned, leaning forward. "No – she is gone from my sight once more."

"We must hunt her down," Hogun said softly, as many words as the quiet Vanir had spoken all evening. "She will wreak havoc upon unprepared Midgardians."

"She will seek to make herself queen over them," Sif said coldly, her nostrils flaring. Loki looked at her, remembering. Yes, Sif had more reason to hate Lorelei than any of them. Lorelei had stolen Haldor, Sif's husband of just a few months, entranced him and used him to lead her shock troops in a war of conquest. He'd died, leaving Sif heartbroken.

Lorelei hadn't stopped there, though. She'd tried to seduce Thor to her bed, and when that hadn't worked, had taken him prisoner and attempted to force him to mate with her. Amazingly, Thor had resisted her long enough for them to mount a rescue. Loki had used his own magic to silence Lorelei before he and Frigga made the special collar for her neck, but the sight of his brother, bloody and bruised, chained down to a bed, came back to him now, and Loki realised what he had forgotten. He had forgotten that Thor too knew what it was like to be tortured and enslaved.

"Please, Loki," Sif said, interrupting his reverie. "Let me go and kill her."

"Not yet," Loki said, raising his hand to forestall the protest he could see her about to voice. "Would Odin order her killed, Sif? You know as well as I do that he would have her brought back here for trial first. So that is what you must do. Do you wish for any help? I dare not send any male Asgardian warriors with you, for fear that Lorelei might subvert them – Midgardians can be formidable foes indeed without adding those your equal in strength to the equation."

Sif smiled, actually _smiled_ at him. "No, thank you, Loki. I believe this is a job best done alone. With your permission, I will get my things and return here to the Bifrost; best I pick up her trail before it goes cold."

"I will bring you a spare collar. She will long since have rid herself of the one she wore while imprisoned," Loki said.

They met again in the Bifrost chamber less than an hour later. The Warriors Three had returned to their work and as Heimdall prepared to open the Bifrost, Loki and Sif had, for a few moments, the illusion of privacy.

Loki dropped his illusions and stood before Sif wearing his true face. She gave him a wry little smile.

"I will not forget whose orders I am following, Loki."

"Take care down there, Sif," Loki cast a glance at Heimdall. "Midgard is very different to how it once was – and mortals can be very dangerous, never mind Lorelei."

Sif grinned, a sudden flash of white teeth, and tossed her dark hair back. "Don't you know, Loki?" she said as she strode towards the Bifrost, "I'm dangerous too!"

The last word was swallowed by the crashing static as the bridge activated, and then she was gone. Loki stood in silence for several long minutes, staring at the space where he last saw her, until the Bifrost settled and the chamber was quiet again.

"My sister can take care of herself," Heimdall rumbled, and Loki jumped.

"Yes. Yes, I know she can. After all, Lorelei's been rotting in prison for six hundred years while Sif has only been improving her battle skills, has she not?"

"Aye," Heimdall's eyes were distant. "Sif has already found allies. The shieldfolk. They will aid her in her quest. All being well, she should return with her prisoner shortly." He turned his unsettling golden gaze on Loki. "I will report to you regularly, my liege, to keep you advised of her progress."

"Thank you," Loki said, recognising the dismissal. "Please have Lady Sif bring Lorelei to me directly on her return."

Heimdall inclined his head, and watched as Loki resettled his illusions and began to walk back along the bridge to Asgard. The Guardian left unvoiced his most pressing question.

_What will you do with Lorelei once she is in your power, Trickster? With an ally such as she, you would be dangerous indeed._

Loki was meditating quietly in his cell, following a visit from another of Natasha's 'friends', a man who appeared to be made out of rock, having been transformed during an accident in space. A quiet sound outside his cell made him look up, and he saw Fandral standing there, watching him.

"Fandral. Is aught wrong?" Loki stood up and moved forward.

"I really didn't think you'd do it," Fandral blurted. "I really didn't think you'd willingly go back in the cell to serve out the time of punishment Ginevra's mortal descendant laid on you."

Loki sighed, bending his head. "Fandral, I consider myself lucky that she spared my _life_. I have learned a great deal about myself during this punishment. I look back at what I was a year ago and shake my head in disgust. I was selfish and short-sighted, thinking only of what I wanted, not the greater good."

Fandral stared at him in silence for a moment, and then, much to Loki's surprise, he went to one knee and pressed his fist to his chest in a gesture of deepest respect. "Should Odin never awaken and Thor never return, you will have my loyalty, my prince."

Humbled, Loki shook his head. "Do not say such things, Fandral! This is not my throne, and frankly? I no longer want it."

Fandral stood, smiling wryly, waving his hand over the control panel to open the cell. "Well, my prince, I am afraid you must put on your kingly mantle for a while yet. Sif is returned from Midgard, with Lorelei muzzled and in chains."

"Excellent!" Loki smiled, and it wasn't a pleasant smile. "Let us go, then, Fandral. The throne room?"

"Yes, sire," Fandral replied, following Loki as he strode forward, Odin's visage settling over him easily, the enchantment as familiar to him by now as breathing.

Heimdall and several Einherjar had escorted Sif and Lorelei to the throne room. Loki looked at Sif first: she looked weary but well, and had no visible wounds. She gave him a tightly triumphant smile as he walked to his throne, and with a twist of her wrist she flung Lorelei at his feet.

Loki looked down at the siren before him. Lorelei was beautiful, he noted clinically; it had been a long time since he had seen her, several centuries. She had been kept in a different part of the dungeons to him and he had not seen her during her escape. Her russet hair framed an absolutely stunning face, and as she knelt before him blue-green eyes flashed with rage.

Loki glanced up and saw Heimdall watching him. He had the sudden feeling that the Guardian was waiting for him to make a move. Surely Heimdall didn't think he'd be foolish enough to free Lorelei and try to make an ally of her? The witch would never tolerate playing second fiddle to anyone.

"Lorelei of Asgard," he rumbled in Odin's harsh voice, "it seems in six hundred years imprisoned, you have learned nothing."

Lorelei's eyes flashed up towards him in surprise. Her brows furrowed.

"Everyone out except Heimdall and the Lady Sif," Loki ordered. Fandral raised eyebrows at him, but ushered the Einherjar out. Loki didn't want to take any risks. He knew both he and Heimdall could not be entranced by Lorelei's voice alone, and he had no intention of getting close enough for her to touch him. "All right, Sif, uncollar her and let's hear what she has to say."

Lorelei didn't bother trying to entrance Odin. Instead she let fly with a string of ripe curses until Sif smacked her around the back of the head.

"Shut up, bitch!"

"You dare!"

"I am beginning to think that imprisoning you has been a waste of time and resources," Loki said meditatively. "In six hundred years, your goals and your attitude are unchanged. You still believe that your abilities entitle you to be a queen. You take what you want without caring about the welfare of others, and I cannot see that you are ever going to change, are you, Lorelei?"

"Lock me away again then," she spat at him. "And when Ragnarok comes, I will dance on your grave!"

"No," Loki said, "I don't think you will. I think the Nine Realms are better off without you, Lorelei. Better off without your poison dripping into the ears of good men, turning them from their duty and their loved ones to serve your selfish ends. Why should we ever allow you another opportunity?"

Lorelei stared at him disbelievingly. He obviously didn't sound like Odin, who preferred to wash his hands of such problems and would simply have sent her straight back to her jail cell. Sif was staring at Loki too, dawning hope on her face.

"Collar her again, if you would, my Lady Sif," Loki ordered, "and deliver her for execution at daybreak tomorrow. I will waste no more of Asgard's resources keeping a prisoner who has no wish to be redeemed."

Lorelei appeared to scream, but Sif had already snapped the collar back on and she could not make a sound. Sif took a grim relish in jerking Lorelei to her feet by her hair and dragging her from the room.

"That was well done, my liege," Heimdall rumbled, and to Loki's surprise, he braced at attention with one hand against his chest before leaving the room in the wake of the two women.

Loki sat down on the throne – and that was another thing, Odin's arse must be solid granite – and sighed. Gestures of respect from both Fandral and Heimdall, what next?

Next came Sif herself. Loki did not bother to attend Lorelei's execution – he would not give her that mush distinction. Sif came to him afterwards, while he was poring over some incomprehensible reports in Odin's study.

"Thank you," she said abruptly from the doorway.

"What for?" Loki looked up, chewing absently on the end of his stylus. Sif closed the door behind her and walked towards him.

"Would you drop the illusion, Loki? I want to see your true face."

Surprised, he did so, and stood up as she came to stand before him. And then stared as she went to one knee at his feet, took his hand in hers and bent her head, touching her brow to his knuckles.

"Six hundred years I have waited for justice," she said softly. "And today, you gave it to me." Sif lifted her face, and for the very first time he could ever remember, Loki saw on her face an expression of pure, blazing joy. "_Thank you_," she said.

_Oh_. Loki drew in a sharp breath, amazed by the feeling coursing through him. Not triumph. Not victory. No, it was just pure satisfaction, because he had done the _right thing_. He had destroyed a threat to Asgard, to all the Nine Realms, and in doing so he had given Sif reason to smile like that. "You're welcome?" he said a bit inadequately.

"Well, you have my gratitude, Loki." Sif hesitated. "Heimdall feared that you might seek to make Lorelei an ally, I think…"

Loki shook his head, lifting Sif's hand so that she stood up. "She could never be trusted. Besides – what could she give me that I want? The throne of Asgard is mine – and I _don't_ want it, not anymore. All Lorelei wants to do is be a queen, an absolute, petty tyrant. The last thing any nation needs!"

Sif was still smiling at him, but if anything her smile grew broader. "Ah, Loki," she said. "Such a king you will be!"

He shook his head firmly. "I don't want the throne any more. I've learned what it is to sit in that chair, Sif; it's a prison, a torture chamber with chains of duty."

Sif's smile grew tender. "And yet you shoulder that duty, Loki. Thor left because he knew he lacked the will to take it on; you accepted it willingly and continue to shoulder it, despite the other debts you must pay."

"I accepted _blindly_," Loki said with a sigh. "And I completely understand why Thor left. If I had a woman like Jane Foster waiting for me, I'd leave too."

Sif's smile slipped, and Loki realised his mistake. "Sif, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Hurt me?" she looked at him with a puzzled frown. "How should the mention of Jane Foster hurt me?"

Loki sputtered. "You – and Thor…"

"Never," Sif let out a quiet laugh. "No, Thor is as another brother to me. I know his faults too well. No, I grieve _for_ Thor, because Lady Jane is a mortal and his time with her will be all too short. I know too well what it is to have one you wished to love for eternity snatched from you too soon."

"Oh, Sif." Of course today would have reminded her of her lost husband. She never spoke of Haldor, but Loki remembered them together. Sif had smiled so much more in those days, and Haldor had doted on her. "Do you still grieve for Haldor?" Gently, he put his hand on her arm and guided her to a couch; she sat down unhesitatingly beside him, and he rejoiced silently when she did not shrug away his hand.

"I cannot remember his face," Sif admitted in a low, strangled voice. "I remember his voice, the way he made me feel. But it has been so long – I feel so guilty that I cannot remember his face!" And, for the first time Loki could remember, he saw tears begin to slip down her cheeks.

"Sif," he said softly. "It's all right. It's been a very long time. Haldor would not have wanted you to grieve for him forever."

She leaned in to him, and, hesitantly, he put his arm around her shoulders. It had been a long time since anyone had looked to him for affection, but Sif seemed to have no compunction about it. She put her arms around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I know," she said in a slightly choked voice. "But – while he was yet unavenged, I felt as though I could not let him go. Today – I am finally free."

There wasn't much Loki could say to that. So he sat in silence, holding the warrior maid to him, stroking her hair, humming softly under his breath to soothe her as she wept.

Finally Sif moved back, and he let her go, looking tactfully away as she swiped her fingers over her cheeks to remove the evidence of her tears. "Thank you, Loki," she said at last.

"It was something Odin should have done long ago," Loki shrugged. "Perhaps he will be angry when he awakes, but truly, I could see no other way. We have lost too many soldiers to waste one standing guard outside the cell of a criminal we could never release. Lorelei would never have changed her ways; she was quite simply too dangerous to let live."

"I meant for the comfort. But thank you for ridding us of Lorelei as well. I agree with your decision, biased though I may be." Sif smiled at him again, her eyes shining, and he thought that it was quite unfair that she should still look so beautiful when a couple of minutes before she'd been a sobbing mess.

"For the comfort, you are welcome any time," Loki said sincerely. "We're friends, aren't we? I trust you more than any other, Sif, you must know that."

"Do you really?" she tilted her head and stared at him. "Yes," she said slowly, thinking over their recent interactions, "I suppose that you do, don't you? Despite the way we have fought in the past."

Loki lifted her hand and kissed it impulsively. "Lady Sif," he told her, "I trust you _because_ of all those times we have fought in the past. You have always been wiser than I."

"Oh come now, that is shameless flattery!" Sif laughed. "How many times have you talked me out of a scrape before I got myself into it with my recklessness?"

Loki grinned. "Not so many times as you have convinced me not to play a prank for fear of the consequences."

They both chuckled, and then Loki realised he was still holding Sif's hand. She was looking at it, but making no effort to pull away, and then she looked up into his eyes.

"Sif," Loki said hoarsely after they had just stared at each other for several long minutes, "one word from you will silence me on the subject forever…"

She didn't let him say any more. And she didn't need to speak. She just leaned in and kissed him.

**All right: that's the last of the one-shots in this universe for now! And – TA-DAAAA – the wait is almost over! I expect to begin posting **_**A Shattered Reflection**_ **by mid-next week, current estimate around November 10-12, so keep your eyes peeled!**

**In the meantime, I'd love to know what you think about Loki and Sif – I dithered for ages before deciding to pair them and writing this scene.**


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